


Almost

by trufflemores



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 2.14, Angst, Escape from Earth-2, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6201181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores/pseuds/trufflemores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2.14. What if Barry couldn't phase through the cell wall?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It has been a while. I hope you enjoy this what-if reaction fic to 2.14 "Escape from Earth-2." I ask only for a little leeway near the end of the fic; see author's notes at the end for more details. Enjoy!

 

Panic thickens in Barry's chest.

No matter how fast he vibrates, the wall doesn't _move_. Being stranded is all he can think about, all he can see: palms flat against the glass, every ounce of Speed Force straining towards freedom, he tries to focus on _listening_ to the vibrational frequencies instead of blindly trying every combination he can. Nothing works; it doesn't budge.

_It's not going to move._

Cisco looks like he wants to speak but can't find the words, tension crackling in the air between them as Barry steps back from the glass, shaking his head frantically. "Get out of here," he orders, meeting Cisco's gaze and willing him to _understand_.

"We can't leave you here," Cisco begins, stepping forward.

Harrison puts a hard hand on Cisco's shoulder, says in a rasp, "Yes we can" and propels Cisco towards the door. "Jesse," he adds, putting his arm around her back, already steering their band away from the danger. "We need to go," he adds brusquely, capturing Cisco's sleeve when he attempts to move towards Barry again.

"We can't _leave him_ ," Cisco repeats emphatically, but Harrison's grip on his arm is vicelike and Barry can tell Cisco doesn't know what to _do_ and Harrison does. He steers them away; Killer Frost follows, brisk, decided, not looking back.

 _Don't establish eye contact. It's humanizing_.

But Iris and Other Barry don't leave; Harrison doesn't seem to care. Harrison has two of his three charges. Besides, Harrison was the one who always emphasized the fact that it _wasn't-Iris, wasn't-Joe, wasn't-your-Earth_. Other Barry isn't Harrison's problem; he isn't _their_ Barry.

As far as Harrison is concerned, better to leave them and cut their losses than waste time persuading them to save their own lives.

Unaware of the very real danger he is in, Other Barry lingers, taking his time. He puts both hands on the opposite side of the glass, pressing against it gently. Experimentally, he glides his palms across the surface, searching for something that isn't there.

Barry tells him quietly, "Get out of here."

Other Barry ignores him, pushing against the glass.

Irritation strangles fear: Barry slams both fists against the glass, practically crackling with the force of his own conviction. " _Go!_ " he snaps.

Other Barry stares at him and it sinks in.

 _I'm your doppelganger_.

It's a disarming thought, realizing that Barry is not the prime, the center point of the universe. He is not the one from whom all other Barrys owe their existence. He is not the origin.

He's just another copy. An alternate, a clone, a Xerox. A strange afterthought in a life that will go on perfectly without him.

Utterly and infinitely replaceable.

"Get out of here," he pleads.

And, at last, Other Barry nods, reaching up to loosen his own collar like it's strangling him. Unable to speak, he reaches for Iris, who puts a steadying hand on his elbow.

He doesn't say what can't be said.

 _We're coming back_.

Their retreating backs say it all.

 _We can't_.

. o .

It's been two hours and Zoom hasn't said a word.

Zoom hasn't even acknowledged Barry or the man in the mask. He emerged from the abyss in front of Jesse's empty cell and froze, almost meditatively still, the immediate throb of terror only amplifying in Barry's chest as time went on. There's a storm building under those shoulders; Barry braces himself against the opposite wall, knowing that it'll break eventually, fighting down a wave of nausea.

Hunger softens the edges, making it hard to focus on Zoom. After the second hour, he gingerly takes a seat, expecting an interruption, but Zoom doesn't _move_.

Then a second Zoom phases through Barry's cell and the mirage stutters, its existence petering out as the real speedster lifts Barry by the throat, crushing him against the highest corner of the cell as Barry's hands rise to scrabble against the choking pressure.

Vertigo slows his reflexes; panic wakes them up, his halfhearted tugging intensifying to pulling as _hard_ as he can, _I-can't-breathe-I-can't-breathe-I-can't-breathe_ , and Zoom smashes him against the wall hard enough to shatter stars across his vision and the world breaks.

. o .

Regaining consciousness is a mistake.

Barry gasps for air, strangling back to life, dangling on the cusps of his feet. An indescribable pain draws his attention to his stomach as Zoom's claw digs into his gut, draining Speed-warmth-energy-light- _life_  from him. The man in the mask beats the glass on his cell, but Zoom doesn't even twitch in his direction, utterly focused. A low, guttural growl builds in Zoom's chest, an almost satisfied sound that makes Barry push against his unmoving shoulder, unable to catch his own breath or his sense of gravity.

Just when the cold takes on an unraveling tone, a hollow, echoing emptiness creeping over him, Zoom drops him.

He can't break his own fall; his elbows slip against the concrete, losing purchase immediately and shoving him face-first onto it. He can feel the faintest hint of lightning shivering under his skin, trying to heal the wound with tapped-out reservoirs. Struggling to breathe, he rolls onto his side, willing the torrent of pain-fear-revulsion to subside.

Zoom puts a foot on Barry's left ankle; the surge of power between them is potent, Barry's own Speed straining under Zoom's skin, and there's a distant crack that Barry's doesn't feel.

Then Zoom's gone.

It takes a long time for Barry to follow suit, drifting under again, chasing the darkness to a better place.

. o .

"You're even less impressive in person."

Ronnie's drawling tone cuts through Barry's thoughts, drawing him back to the present. Blinking, he turns his head to look at Ronnie. "You died," he rasps.

Ronnie smiles, rocking back from his heels onto his feet and towering over Barry. "I'm not that expendable," he says coolly, "but it's a neat party trick." Then, smiling graciously, he adds, "Nice of you to say hi to my girlfriend. She's missed."

"She's not a monster," Barry reminds Ronnie, struggling to his knees. "Neither are you."

Ronnie rolls his eyes. "Morality is pretentious." Gesturing with a hand, he adds, " _This_ is the real world." He tosses a small paper bag at Barry. "Let me know when you want out of your misery," he adds, smiling, and then Zoom is there. He phases through the cell, grabbing Ronnie by the back of the neck before Flashing both of them out of the cell.

" _I_ can put you out of your misery," Zoom reminds Ronnie in a nearly subvocal growl.

Ronnie bows his head slightly, expressing subservience but pointedly keeping his eyes on Zoom. It seems important: _weakness is not tolerated_. For a moment Barry thinks Zoom will still make good on his threat before they're both gone.

Fishing sluggishly through the bag, Barry turns up a stack of granola bars.

His stomach growls audibly, teeth sinking into one of the bars before he's fully torn off the wrapper, ravenous with hunger. The fifth one disappears before his shaking hands have fully processed the first one; by the eighth, he slows down, at last crunching idly on a tenth bar, unable to finish it or the remaining six.

Sated, he leans back against the glass, feeling the increasingly acute sharp, splintering throb in his ankle – doesn't even reach out to check, can't bring himself to, _what's the point?_ – and a growing warmth in his chest. It fans out to his fingertips, seeping into every pore of his being, making him feel _whole_ if not well.

A mistaken glance to his side brings his companion into sharp relief.  Hungerradiates from his posture in every rigid muscle.

Barry looks at the remaining bars and back at the man in the mask, watching the way the man's hand flexes and shoulders _tremble_ with need as he stares at the bag.

Barry feels sick with guilt, staring across the no man's land, vividly reminded of the state of affairs. Zoom isn't letting him starve – yet. But judging by the gaunt, trembling visage of his companion, Barry can't confirm the same is true for him.

Worry reasserts itself at the thought that the bars might be Barry's last opportunity to eat, his last meal, and he turns his back on his companion, unable to look at him as he sits on the floor and forces down the last six bars.

It's hard to keep them down, lying on his side and hugging his stomach, but it's a manageable pain.

And if the tap-tap of fists try to draw his attention, focusing on escape dulls the desire to focus on it.

. o .

Barry doesn't know how much time passes.

It must be late; the man in the mask is asleep, curled up on the floor. His wordless entreaty echoes in Barry's head, interrupting his thoughts.

 _Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap_.

It's almost childlike, the repetitious plea that goes on and on and  _on_ until Barry wants to snap at him because he _can't do anything_. But he can't bring himself to speak. Being asked to abate suffering isn't a crime. Barry's impotence isn't a mark on the man's character.

It's a projection, easier to manage than the sinking reality that he doesn't know how he's going to get out.

 _Vibrate at the right frequency_.

Easier said than done.

Putting a hand on the wall, he focuses his attention on it, trying to convince it to phase through the surface.

Even so, his thoughts wander.  He wonders if Zoom is asleep, too. If he even needs sleep. _That thing cannot be human_.

Sometimes the Speed Force makes Barry feel like something Other, something that doesn't require sleep or food or humanity, that lives off the lightning, that _is_ the lightning.

The sensation passes when he slows down, but while it lasts, it feels infinite. Maybe it is.

Closing his eyes, Barry keeps a hand on the glass, concentrating.

He's walked ( _run_ ) on water, scaled buildings twenty stories high, and traveled back in time, but the glass wall standing between him and freedom is utterly immovable.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Zoom returns.

The blue lightning around him has taken on a lighter tone, almost _white_ , and Barry wonders if it's a reflection of the Speed Force. It makes him think of heat: _hotter burns redder, bluer, whiter_.

There's no change in the warmth (or, more appropriately, utter lack thereof) in Zoom's clawed hand when he grabs Barry by the throat. But the power radiating off him is _electrifying_. The way he speaks is altered, too: deeper. Darker.

" _I only need you_ barely _alive_ ," he reminds in a voice like thunder.

When his hand sinks into Barry's chest, a scream builds in his lungs until it bursts.

In the corner of his eye, Barry sees the man in the mask turn his back on Barry, hands reaching up to cover the metal hugging his ears.

_Don't listen._

It goes on forever.

. o .

All Barry really notices is that sub-vocal growling.  It's a thrumming, intermediate sensation between pleasure and pain, like a lion hugging a carcass.

The intermission is briefer this time. Barry couldn't stomach bars even if they were offered. Zoom doesn't seem to care, utterly focused, hungry, blood-lusty.

In the dim recesses of his consciousness, Barry realizes that Zoom's lightning has taken on a distinctly white tone.

. o .

Hours pass. It feels like centuries.

He's dehydrated, but it doesn't seem to matter. All that does is the protein bars Ronnie brings him, a ritual Barry finds disheartening at best and sickening at worst. Barry wants to ignore them, to wordlessly refuse compliance. _I only need you barely alive_ resonates with him; the generosity isn't for Barry's sake. It's for Zoom. _I can't take your speed if you're dead_.

Barry wants to ignore the bars, but something primal emerges and forces his hand, breaking his will.

He never sees the same twisted courtesy extended to his companion. There are times when, staring at the man's still form, Barry can't see him breathing.

Then it shudders through him, a hollow reminder that like it or not – this is real.

. o .

The suit is uncomfortable. And despite the unforthcoming water, Barry really has to pee.

Asking isn't an option when Zoom isn't even present, but Barry sits on the floor, meditative, and tries not to think about it.

After a point – an indefinite point that may be mere minutes but must be _weeks_ , years – he's actively grinding his teeth, willing himself to just _wait it out_ , as if biological symptoms of being alive can be ignored into oblivion. Pain can be.

At last, when commitment edges into desperation, Zoom returns. He doesn't say a word, grabbing Barry by the collar of the suit and injecting him with something that triggers an immediate and compelling urge to vomit.

"If you want to live," Zoom growls, "you won't run."

Then he Flashes Barry to a janitor's closet of a bathroom, alone, in a windowless, concrete room, and Barry's urge to run is overpowered by the pain in his head, the explosive, reckless gallop of his heart in his chest. Supporting himself on his bad ankle is challenging; he can't put pressure on it without biting back a howl.

 _You won't run_.

Thinking he's a coward for not even trying, he relieves himself, sinking to the floor after and feeling a cold sweat settle in as the tremors do.

. o .

Zoom doesn't inject him again until he's so-far-gone the world is loud and sharp-edged and it's beautiful, it's awful, make it _stop_ , and then silence sinks in.

He feels disgusting in his suit, wondering if trading one evil for another was the right move, and moans softly in discomfort as his throbbing ankle gives another pointed stab.

The man in the mask tap-taps the glass twice and Barry looks to his side.

A single protein bar.

He swallows, trying not to read into it. Zoom can't think it'll be enough to keep him alive with the rate he's stealing his speed ( _too-much-too-much-can't-take-anymore_ ).

Shoving down his nausea is a challenge, but Barry cradles the bar in his hands until he can finally nibble at it, focusing on the present.

 _Focus. Focus. Focus_.

He needs to get out. That's the most important aim. It doesn't matter what Zoom is doing in the world beyond his cell: until Barry gets _out_ , the world _is_ his cell. It equally does not matter what Harrison and Cisco are up to, what Iris and Other Barry are up to, what Killer Frost and Caitlin are up to. He can't think that way, so he thinks, _Focus_ and puts a hand on the glass.

He's too shaky to even work up to speed, giving up with a frustrated snarl.

 _Focus_ , he tells himself. _Focus_.

On what, he doesn't know.

When Zoom returns, pain provides an answer.

. o .

It cycles.

Barry doesn't know how long he's under – barely aware of the faint impressions of himself, the way his heart beats sluggishly in his chest, the way his lungs struggle for breath, the way he just can't feel _warm_ again – but gradually he comes to, feeling an increasing ache under his skin, a profound weakness building until just being alive takes it out of him.

His left ankle is swollen and painful, his speed is difficult to access at best, and the unpredictability of Zoom's visits makes it impossible to plan an escape. Even if he had the opportunity, he doesn't know if he could work up the strength to seize the opportunity. All he knows with certainty is that his margin for success is slimming by the hour.

 _Get up. Try again. You are the only way you are getting out of this cell_.

He can't bank on a rescue. He needs to stop hoping for one; he needs to stop believing in certain impossibilities and start believing in the ones he can control. He needs to listen to reason. _Get up. Try again_.

It's hard, but he gets to his feet. Draws in a deep breath, closes his eyes. Feels the lightning under his skin.

And he thinks, _Caitlin-Cisco-Iris-Joe_ and pushes against the glass. He thinks, _Oliver-Felicity-Dig-Roy_ and leans his weight on it, trusting something between himself and the Other, approaching that place where it's less about him and more about the lightning. He thinks, _Mom, Dad, Central City, The Flash_ and digs in, feeling the weight of two worlds, breath arriving in labored huffs.

At last, he thinks, _Eddie-Ronnie-Harrison-Wells_ , and collapses through the barrier, landing hard on the floor.

. o .

Ears ringing, Barry struggles to his feet. Stares at the man in the mask watching him, still seated on the floor, unable to believe what he is seeing. Barry thinks, _Run, Barry. Run_.

He limps forward. _Run_. His ankle hurts, his head hurts, his chest _aches_ , but he pushes ahead, utterly intent. _Run_. He puts both hands against the glass, closes his eyes, concentrates. _Run._

And then he phases through it.

The man in the mask does not move. He looks up at Barry like he cannot fully comprehend his existence. Barry says in a voice that aches with disuse, "Come on."

With evident strain, the man pushes himself to his feet. Barry wordlessly puts an arm under his shoulders because the lightning is a crutch between them, something-necessary, something-to-do, and the need-to-act distracts him from the reality long enough that he takes a deep breath and phases them both through the wall.

Aware that he will not get a second opportunity, he breathes through his mouth, lungs on fire, and sees Ronnie standing at the end of the hall.

For a moment, their eyes meet. Ronnie approaches and Barry thinks, _I can't fight you_.

Ronnie steps in front of them and the man in the mask trembles. Barry does not move. He can barely breathe.

Then Ronnie says in a quiet, barely audible voice, "Eight minutes. Left fork. Then the middle one."

He turns on his heel and walks off, deliberately putting space between them, and Barry realizes the magnitude of the offer. The _risk_ he's taking by not turning them in to Zoom.

Hiking the man's arm over his shoulder, Barry draws in the deepest breath he can, _focusing_ , and takes off.

. o .

Ronnie's instructions prove simple and effective: two quick turns and they emerge at the top of a cliff, the man in the mask shuddering against him as the man crouches slowly, feeling the grass under his hands with something like wonderment in his movements.

"Come on," Barry urges, not letting him stop because they _can't stop_ , he can't stop or he won't be able to move again, and the man in the mask reluctantly complies, letting Barry half-urge, half-drag him back to his feet. "Come on," he repeats, a mantra, mostly to himself, and he carries them off into the twilit forest, willing daylight to hold a little longer.

It doesn't; darkness descends with startling rapidity, disorienting him, and he comes to a faltering halt in a thicket of trees, looking in each direction and wondering which way points _home_.

 _None of them_ , he thinks. _All of them_.

In a way, he's already home. If Professor Stein's theory is accurate, the two Earths exist on different vibrational planes: _overlapping,_ occurring in the same space, at different frequencies. Somewhere in these trees is _home_ , somewhere in the air is _home_ , but nowhere in sight calls to him and the weight of the man in the mask is almost crushing.

At a loss, he lets the man sink to the ground once more, finding his own feet faltering underneath him. His head spins; his stomach aches; his eyes refuse to orient on landmarks properly, wobbling and distorting.

He makes it three painful steps before grunting and crouching, kneeling, sitting in the dirt, subservient to his own speed – or lack thereof.

 _I can't do this_.

He grits his teeth, pushing his fists against the ground, forcing shaking legs to support him. _Come on,_ he cajoles himself, putting weight on the bad ankle, letting the pain wake him up. _Come on._

A fireman's carry puts the man in the mask over his shoulders, distributing the weight, making it possible to rally his remaining strength for another sprint.

He tears across the forest, searching, searching, searching, aware of the dim echoes of electricity pulsing from an undefinable direction.

 _Come on_.

It's getting stronger – faintly, but still _getting stronger_ – and when he follows the lead he sees city lights in the distance.

The world tilts alarmingly around him and he thinks, _Get to safety_ even as trembling legs scarcely bear him along. _Go home._

It's the last active thought he has for a while, crashing into their front door and setting off a flurry of activity.

. o .

Someone says, " _Barry_ ," and the overburden vanishes from his shoulders. Before gravity pulls him down, the ground slips away from his feet, his legs dragging limply behind him as a second someone puffs and struggles to take on his weight. There's conversation, quick, informative, but he doesn't catch it. A pervasive sense of duality lingers as he's carried the last few steps to safety by himself – albeit, a lankier, lightning-less version.

Someone says, "Over here" and the someone dragging him huffs but follows the voice. Barry's eyes are open, but his vision is short-circuiting, he can only make out the outlines of shuffling feet and then couch cushions are under him and he wants to cry.

There's an intermediate period where he loses track of things – loses track of the man in the mask, loses track of the voices talking, lets the conversation fade until it's just _there._ It's nice. He shouldn't, but he feels _safe_ : it's easier, at any rate, to believe it's true.

 _Zoom's coming for you_.

Someone says, "…What do we do?"

_You're endangering them._

". . . wait," someone finishes.

_Get out of there._

Then consciousness steals away from him and he goes under completely.

. o .

It takes him a while to catch up to the reality.

Senses come back in disconnected pieces: he's sitting up slowly before any sensation of touch or sound has fully caught up with his sight, the familiarly clean, homey smell of a living room pervading his awareness. His chest aches, and that singular ache awakens a dozen others like it, pinning him back against the cushions with a groan. He tries to breathe through it, but it intensifies with every inhale, getting more and more acute until he has to fight not to scream.

He must make some noise because Iris is there, hand on his knee, gaze soft and solid and familiar, god, it's so good to be _home._

She says, "Barry?" and it might take him ten years to respond, but she sits patiently on the arm of the couch and waits for him.

At last, he manages a thick exhale, a wave of relief overpowering him because for now he's _here_ and it-won't-last-it-can't-last but some stupid, childish part of him wants to believe it will. "Thank you," he manages in a rasp, and it hurts, and he's gross in his suit, sore and sticky and chilled, but it's not the cell.

It's not the cell.

"I have to leave," he says in a deep, three-days-into-a-cold voice. Talking is exhausting, but he can't impress the point enough. _Zoom's coming._ "I have to go," he repeats, no less strongly, but he manages to sit up a little, swaying at the change in altitude.

He doesn't expect her to stop him, but he's more surprised when she nods, standing and asking, "Can you walk?"

Barry gingerly swings his legs around. When he realizes he'll have to put weight on his left leg, he swallows down bile.

_Zoom's coming._

Breathing through it makes it bearable. The knowledge that he'll be back in that cell if he isn't careful motivates him to walk, limping to the door. Iris follows and says, "Babe." She puts her arm under both of his, supporting him around the backs of his shoulders, and she's stronger than she looks, a lot stronger, and half-carries him to the door.

From somewhere upstairs, Other Barry calls, "Iris?"

"Outside," is all she says, leading the way.

Iris doesn't abandon him on the front step as he half-expects; instead, she leads him to a car, opening the backseat door for him.

"Iris," he protests, but she just gives him a gentle push forward. He's too tired to argue, crawling painfully into the space, and exhales slowly as he folds himself against the cushions, staying beneath the windows.

_Zoom's coming._

"We're going to a friend's," Iris says, patting his right leg, "relax. I'm a cop, remember?" Then she clicks the door behind him.

It's still unlocked, and he's fast, but the notion of running is exhausting. He doesn't know where he would _go,_ either, and there's something companionable about Iris and Other Barry's presences when they join him in the car, Iris at the wheel and Other Barry in the middle front seat, a third man occupying the true shotgun.

The man chews on a piece of toast, slow, steady, tiny bites. There's a certain indefinable _relief_ radiating from him, but Barry can feel the apprehension, too. How difficult it is to maintain a slow-and-steady pace when the urge to devour it whole is so potent.

His own stomach growls and he's headachy from hunger, but none of it seems to matter as Iris drives, Other Barry filling the air with conversation.

It shouldn't be possible when he feels as grimy as he does, but it isn't long before the lulling motion of the car gliding smoothly down a highway lulls him into oblivion.

. o .

When they stop, it's midafternoon.

Iris coaxes him to sit up in the backseat, helping him into a big college sweater and zipping it up over the top half of the suit. It doesn't do much for the lower half of his suit, but the walk is short: fourteen steps and they're at the door, six more and there's a couch for him to sit on. He sits back and keeps his head down, self-conscious about the windows.

 _Zoom's coming_.

He chafes the hands of the sweater together, wishing it could provide more than residual warmth.

Then Jay Garrick walks through the door.

Barry _stares_.

"How did you get here?" he rasps.

Jay pauses, looking at him, and there's an indefinable expression there. Somewhere between pain and sympathy, understanding and remoteness. At last, he says simply, "I never left." Then, with a stiff nod, he adds with obvious discomfort, "Thank you for saving my life."

Barry can't speak, thunderstruck, trying to comprehend _how_ when he knows Jay is back on Earth-1 – right?

_Wrong._

It doesn't make sense. Barry wants to press the point, but mostly he wants out of the suit, he _needs_ out of the suit, the suit is covered in Zoom's claw marks, the suit is a cage, he needs out, he needs _out_.

"I need a shower," Jay says without preamble, looking at Iris and a woman Barry doesn't recognize. "May I?"

The woman nods, nodding upstairs. "Of course."

Jay makes his way to the stairs, climbing each one with deliberate effort, still a little shaky on his feet, and Barry wonders how long Zoom had him there.

_It couldn't have been long. You just saw him._

He has so many questions – too many questions – but the reminder of uncleanliness is almost too much to bear. At this point, a garden hose would suffice. Other Barry cooks up dinner, Iris talks with the woman, and normalcy settles over the scene: except in Barry's mind all he can think is the fact that food is a precursor to Zoom stealing his Speed, his stomach turning at the thought.

 _I won't eat,_ he tells himself. (He will. He wants to live too much.) _I won't._

Jay emerges nearly an hour later and Barry can't get to his feet fast enough, ignoring the ricocheting pain in his ankle to Flash down the hallway, all but slamming the door behind him, breathing hard in relief.

Cage-cage-cage hits him, and it's a concrete block that radiates _pain_ , he's clutching his chest and sitting on the edge of the tub trying to remember how to breathe because _I won't run I won't run I won't run please please please._

Zoom liked to let that sink in: that promise, _I won't run_ , make him beg for it, _please, please, please._

He sits there for a long time, head cradled in his hands: long after the idle discussion outside turns friendly, companionable chatter, clicking cutlery and utter _normalcy_ , and he knows Zoom is there, Zoom is _there_ and he's not-going-to-kill-him and Barry can't do anything about it.

_I-want-to-go-home._

He is home. Just on a different frequency.

Drawing in a painful breath, he gets the sweat-soaked sweater and suit off his back and shoulders, feeling strangely vulnerable. The pants come off reluctantly, clinging and awkward. He thinks, _We need to modify that_ but the thought of putting the suit back on, _ever,_ sickens him.

It's the motivation he needs to get the boots off, one painful inch at a time, biting his fist hard as he pries off the left boot, almost blacking out in the process, clutching the edge of the tub. It looks awful: healed, but in a disjointed, out-of-place way, dark bruises covering most of the surface area.

Tossing the suit aside, he exhales slowly, running his hands through his hair – and scrunching up his nose in disgust.

He needs a _shower._

 _Focus_ , he tells himself, walking through the process slowly, carefully, painfully, until he's standing under a wonderful torrent of warmth, borrowing a shampoo from a brand and name that doesn't exist on his Earth, letting the infusion of familiar and unfamiliar ground him.

_You're here._

_You're here._

_Stay here and it'll be okay._

He has to believe it: he has to believe that it'll be okay.

When he emerges, wrapped in a towel that doesn't belong to him, he blushes, realizing for the first time he doesn't _have_ a spare change of clothes, but a voice from downstairs calls, "Hang on, mate, I'll be up in a second" and Barry's heart skips a beat.

Eddie Thawne gallops upstairs, grinning at him before halting in his tracks and whistling low, saying, "Oh. Wow. I'm – yeah, let's get you dressed."

Barry stares at him, wondering how this place is _real_ , how his mother can be alive, how _Ronnie_ can be alive and Jay is here, except Jay-is-not-here, and _Eddie's_ alive and somewhere in the middle of it all he's going to short-circuit and break a dimension.

Or just his mind. Whichever comes first.

He follows Eddie, catching himself in a full-length mirror – he's not lanky anymore, but he's thinner than he expects, thinner than he's been since after-speedster, and there's a mashup of blue and black bruises across his chest and abdomen he does a very good job of _not_ staring at – before focusing on the dresser Eddie goes to, chatting at thin air.

"Here we are. Might be a little short on you," he says apologetically.

Barry takes the clothes in one hand, struggling to find words that aren't, _How are you alive?_

"You all right?" Eddie asks, placing a solicitous hand on his arm, and Barry snaps out of it.

"I'm just – gonna go get changed," he says, gingerly creeping back down the hallway, trying not to feel the weight of the world crushing down his shoulders.

_How is this real?_

. o .

Dressed, he doesn't feel better. If anything, he feels worse.

He doesn't know where he _belongs_ , sitting on a chair and trying not to draw attention to himself, trying to stifle the hunger _gnawing_ at his stomach, trying not to meet Jay's eyes or stare at Eddie or anyone for too long, just linger unobtrusively and _below_ the windows, aware that any moment – _unpredictable, he's unpredictable_ – Zoom will return.

And Zoom will-not-kill-him even if Barry wishes he might have.

He wants to text Caitlin and Cisco and plead for them to just, come over, please. He rarely calls on them – usually he's the one responding to SOS messages – but he'd do almost anything to make an exception. _I want to go home._

Home is a universe away.

It's not that late, but he's tired, exhausted, hungry, and he doesn't want to be, so he says quietly, "Is there somewhere I can sleep?"

"Sure thing," Eddie says, springing to his feet, and _you're dead, you died, Eddie, how are you alive?_ It hurts to look at him but Barry can't get enough of it, aware that he's seeing _Eddie_ again. "Follow me," he adds.

Eddie takes him to a guest room – one of two, he notes, aware that he'll be sharing and not sure how he feels about it, _this is my cell_ – and he sits on the bed gratefully. "Anything else I can get for you?" Eddie asks solicitously.

 _Come home. Iris misses you and Joe misses you and Singh misses you and_ I _miss you, Eddie._

Barry shakes his head.

"Right. Sleep well," Eddie says.

Barry does – for the first hour.

. o .

Then he's awake because it's been too long, where is Zoom? Zoom is coming back but he's taking _too long_ and Barry doesn't want to die down here and Zoom will-not-kill-him, he is too important, but if Zoom never comes back Barry is going to rot in this grave and no one will ever find him.

He looks over and sees the-man-in-the-mask, lying on a bed with his back to Barry, and feels like throwing up.

Instead, he staggers out of bed, stumbling because Zoom broke his ankle but Zoom also brought him _food_ , how do you hate the captor who keeps you alive? He thinks, _It should be easy_ but it isn't because there were too many times he looked at the man-in-the-mask and wondered when he was going to die, on what day would the combination of starvation and stress kill him, but Barry did not have to worry about that because he was too-important-to-kill, Zoom kept him alive.

He doesn't know where he's going, anywhere but here, because this isn't his cell and if Zoom doesn't come back he's going-to-die, and he won't die here, he _won't die here_.

Then he hears a yawning voice say, "Barry?" and thinks, _Iris_.

Iris is home. He turns and she's standing there, still holding a mug of hot chocolate and his stomach turns, a mixture of hunger and revulsion spiking in him because _do-not-eat-it_ , but he has to, he has to, he's _hungry._

"Hey," she says, and there's a warm hand on his arm and wow, she is a space heater, except he's mostly just _numb_ and where did the lightning _go?_

If the lightning is gone, then Zoom won't need him; panic surges to the forefront of his consciousness at the thought and he's shaking his head because _I can bring it back, it's still here, it's here, I promise, please, please, I don't want to die here._

"Let's go sit down," Iris suggests, putting an arm around his back again, and something about the gesture helps ground him because okay. He can handle that. Let's go sit down. Sounds great. His ankle hurts like hell but it also means he's alive, and alive counts for something.

She doesn't take him downstairs – he's grateful for that much; his ankle really does hurt like hell and he could do it, of course he could, he'll do anything to stay alive but he doesn't _want_ to – but instead to another guest room at the opposite end of the hall and Barry thinks that Eddie and his wife either _have_ a big family or are planning on having kids, this is a house meant to be filled, and how can something be so mundane and normal when everything else is _wrong_?

Other Barry is nowhere to be seen and Barry wonders if they were downstairs together, drinking hot chocolate, _being normal_ , and normalcy for him has been broken because he hasn't had protein bars in hours and Ronnie is gone and Zoom is coming.

Iris sits on the bed, tugging him so he follows suit, and then she rubs his back and he can't help it. "Zoom's coming," he tells her, and there's panic in his white knuckles as he crushes his hands together but also panic at the thought that he's _wrong,_ that Zoom is _gone_ and I-don't-want-to-die-here. "Iris, he's—"

She says, "It's okay."

"It's not," he whispers, ashamed. "It's not okay. I don't—" _know how to function or whether the man-in-the-mask is going to survive long enough for me to save him or if I_ can _save him, I can't even save myself, and I'm going to die down here, Iris._

Iris says, "Barry."

He looks at her and sees _her_ , his-Iris, and he wants to go home but home is here, too, this is home, being with Iris is home, and some underlying tension finally eases back from the tipping point, relaxing enough that he can loosen the crushing grip he has on his own hands.

"It's okay," she reiterates, still rubbing his back in slow, sweeping circles. "I'm here and you're safe."

He exhales, pressing his palms against his eyes.

"He can't have you. We won't let him."

He nods slowly, trying to subconsciously absorb it. Actively listen.

"It's okay," Iris says again, leaning her head on his shoulder, and he feels a shudder race down his spine because if it is then he's _okay_.

He made it out. He's not in the cell.

He _made it out._

The thought is too huge to process, so he settles for pressing his fists against his eyes and trying to block out the world, himself, everything but Iris' warmth at his side.

He doesn't get tired – but neither does she, occasionally leaning over to take a sip of hot chocolate, and at some point a sleepy looking Other Barry appears in the doorway and pauses, a soft, "Oh," escaping him. "I will be downstairs," he says jovially, about-facing and walking away.

Barry thinks about telling him that this is _his_ world, his wife, his Iris, but he's selfish enough to not want to leave, to sit back with her instead as she grabs the remote and puts on the TV and it's a soap opera neither of them actually watch that somehow holds the conversation for them, letting them descend into companionable silence.

It's all a little surreal, Barry thinks, wondering how Other Barry is enjoy being delegated to the couch because standing in the same space is just _too much_.

He starts to slip in spite of himself, blinking a little too long and missing a sentence or two of dialogue, eventually dozing off for short spells against the headboard, feeling Iris's presence at his side like a security blanket, neither imposing nor expectant, just _there_.

He shouldn't enjoy her company – he doesn't deserve it, he hasn't earned it – but he can't resist it. And when he slumps a little further down the bed and her hand starts carding through his hair, he doesn't stop her. It isn't normal – it's not even approaching normal – but it's almost okay.

It's almost okay.

. o .

In the morning, Barry strategizes.

He knows that he has to stop Zoom. ( _How can you? He will-not-kill-you._ ) But he also knows that he needs to get _home_ , Cisco and Caitlin have to be worried sick – they may have even handed him over for dead, a thought that leaves him feeling oddly hollow – and he _misses_ it, he needs it. Besides, home has resources: people like Harrison Wells, like Jay ( _man-in-the-mask_ ), a Star Labs he knows and can work with.

With Zoom's strength so enhanced, he doesn't stand a chance against him without help. He needs to go home.

And he thinks, _The portal._

It's at Star Labs.

He could run for it. The thought is so tempting his chest _aches_ with it.

But if the portal is compromised or Zoom detects his presence –

He closes his eyes, sitting on the edge of his own bed – having crept quietly out of Iris' late that night, collapsing onto his own into nearly instant unconsciousness – and trying to subdue an aching headache.

 _I have to try_ , he thinks, looking across at Jay and wondering who he _is_ , convinced that it can't be his-Jay.

_I have to go home._

He climbs laboriously to his feet, feeling the stiffness of the gesture, and silently bids the-man-in-the-mask goodbye.

He apologetically pauses outside Eddie's door, wondering how missed his worn gray t-shirt and sweat pants will be before heading to the end of the hall where the stairs are.

Other Barry yawns, emerging with mussed up hair and a certain innocence that startles Barry, reminding him once more that he-is-not-the-prime, _you are utterly replaceable,_ and they both stare at each other for a moment in surprise before Other Barry braces his shoulders.

"So soon?"

_It's been forever._

Barry nods slowly.

Other Barry nods back, looking over his shoulder. "Should I wake her?" he asks in a low tone.

Barry thinks, _I owe her a goodbye._

But he shakes his head.

Other Barry nods again, accepting it. "Are you sure?" he asks quietly.

Barry can't bring himself to smile. "No," he admits. "But I have to."

Other Barry exhales, reaching out and clasping his hand. "Please be careful," he says earnestly. "We'll always be there for you."

Barry has to swallow, shaking his hand back, thinking how _surreal_ it all is before they separate and the two worlds stand apart.

"Be safe." Looking over Other Barry's shoulder, he adds meaningfully, "Both of you." Then, the hardest sentence he's ever said, he says slowly, "I'm coming back." _When I'm strong enough to stop him. When I'm strong enough to protect your world and mine. When I'm strong enough to be the Flash._

It's the coward's way out, he knows, but he can't go back to that cell.

Other Barry looks at him as if he's still in that cell, hands pressed against the glass, trying to understand. To help him.

_I'm just Barry._

_But you're the Flash._

Barry thinks about that torn uniform, about his stolen speed, about his limping walk, and knows that the Flash is a title he'll earn again.

But for now—

For now, _Barry_ is ready to go home.

. o .

Going home is the way it should have been: easy.

Barry Flashes inside Star Labs, ignoring the catastrophic pain lurching up his left leg, the gnawing hunger in his gut, the pounding pulse in his head. He enters the side room Harrison brought them to on their visit, approaching the dormant speed cannon and feeling his heart hammer in anticipation.

_This is home._

He powers it on, watching the amorphous energy flow, wondering what world he's leaving behind – what fates Ronnie and Eddie and Iris and Other Barry will face – before taking a deep breath, concentrating on that core _being_ that is _Speed_ , and letting it take him home.

At 9:58 AM, fully two weeks after his arrival on Earth-2, Barry emerges from the speed cannon on Earth-1.

. o .

Shutting off the Speed cannon reduces his anxiety by at least three orders of magnitude. Barry feels the pressure lift off his chest, the air richer and headier, the aches and pains simultaneously more and less noticeable in the familiar cocoon of his _world._

It's a long walk to the cortex – and he walks it, too tired to summon the lightning under his skin, too tired to do anything more than _walk_ – but the sight of Caitlin and Cisco talking, backs to him, puts a lump in his throat.

And he can barely speak but he manages a breathless, "Hey."

They turn and in unison, utterly unthinkingly, hug him.

Cisco's crying and Caitlin looks like she wants to and Barry just hugs them, ignoring how much it hurts because he's _home_.

"Welcome back, Barry," Harrison says quietly, subdued, at a loss.

And, for some reason, Barry finds that he doesn't blame Harrison for leaving him. _There was nothing you could do_ , he thinks, holding onto Caitlin and Cisco, feeling the tremble build in his left leg until it's hard to ignore. That's when the tables turn and suddenly he doesn't have his arms wrapped protectively around their shoulders but they sweep underneath his, on either side, helping him to a seat.

"I left your suit," Barry tells Cisco apologetically.

"Don't worry about it," Cisco says seriously, "we're just glad to have _you_ back."

Barry exhales, looking up at Caitlin as she flashes a light in his eyes. "Yeah," he agrees, because it'll be a while before anything is approaching normal.

But for now, it's almost okay.

"It's good to be back."

. o .

The first real food he eats in nearly three days is a piece of toast, a la Joe.

Sure, Caitlin has him on a colorful assortment of supplements to help bridge the gap. Barry can stomach the tablets because they're flavorless and tiny and don't resemble food. But it's different to actually hold the toast between his fingertips, take a bite, and digest the fact that this isn't his last meal, that this isn't even Earth-2, that he's back _home_.

Sitting at the table, Barry wonders how such a simple thing ever came to represent something so _important._

How a piece of bread could feel like freedom.

But it does, and he's getting better, slowly. The brace on his ankle helps him walk and keeps the bones in alignment right so they'll heal better this time. The wounds on his abdomen are healing over pretty quickly thanks to the supplements, too. And he might not be able to sleep at night alone, but at least his sleep – when it comes, however late – is uninterrupted.

And he dreams of Earth-2, but he wakes up in his own world.

He wakes up to a new life.

Sitting at the table, looking across at Joe as he cooks up some eggs for himself, Barry says seriously, "It's good to be home."

"Hell," Joe says, abandoning his eggs for a moment and coming up behind him, hugging him, just like old times, "it's good to have you home, Bar."

Barry reaches up to squeeze his arm in wordless gratitude, knowing that with Joe and Caitlin and Cisco and even Harrison, he won't win every time.

But he will always find a way to come home.

. o .

On another Earth, another Barry picks up the remains of the Flash's suit.

He can't help but think about what could have been if the circumstances had been a little different. Tracing his fingers over the red fabric, he wonders what it would be like if he had become a _superhero_. How his relationship with Iris would change – suddenly he wouldn't be the one cowering back, all too aware of his own mortality, but front and center, capable of outrunning _bullets_. He could protect her, protect the city. He could do a lot more.

He feels a pair of arms tuck themselves around his waist from behind, Iris' good-morning voice still sleepy as she says, "I love you."

Barry smiles, setting the suit aside and turning in her arms. Kissing her forehead, he echoes simply, "I love you, too."

The world is full of almosts, of lightning strikes that might have happened, of things that might have been.

But Barry has to admit: he likes the actuality.

He may not be responsible for every choice, but he likes the choices that led him to _this_.

And even if he can't _be_ the Flash, he still knows him. And that is pretty damn cool.

_I'm not the Flash._

_But I am Barry West-Allen._

Life is good. Life is enough.

. o .

Killer Frost doesn't know how to respond to it all. The aftermath. Not being a part of Zoom's coterie but outside of it. Vulnerable.

Sure, she did the right thing. But is the right thing really the right thing if it just leads to a life of exile?

Sitting on a cliff near the northern edge of the forest, wondering if Zoom killed the Flash yet, she turns when someone says, "This is scenic."

Her heart catches in her throat, bolting to her feet and saying, " _Ronnie_ " as he smiles at her.

"Took a while to find you. Guess that was sort of the point, though."

She hugs him so tightly it has to hurt, but he just hugs her back, nose in her hair, and says, "Hi, baby. I missed you."

. o .

The Flash looks out over Central City for the first time in nearly a year, feeling a mild breeze wash pandemonium from his veins, leaving only cool clarity in its wake.

It feels _good_ to be back.

He doesn't have his speed back. Hunter Zolomon took that from him. He used the Flash's speed to _become_ Zoom, to imprison the Flash in his lair while targeting the _Other_ Flash, the one from the other Earth. Zoom stole speed from the Other Flash, too, before the impossible happened.

The Other Flash got them out.

The Other Flash was just a kid, sure, but Hunter Zolomon was just another speedster before he stole the Flash's speed. It isn't a matter of permanent readjustment; merely the length of the interim, between having and not-having speed.

The Flash inhales deeply, knowing the lightning is out there, that he can _find it_ again. He just needs to tap into it.

 _Take it back_ , he thinks, looking out at the horizon, out towards Zoom, and knowing that this isn't over.

Hunter Zolomon will be taken down.

And Jay Garrick will be the one to do it. Take back his identity – take back the title of _The Flash_ – and defend his city from people like Zoom.

No matter how Zolomon defaces him – how his own _twin_ tried to kill him – he will be stopped. And, if necessary, destroyed.

Jay inhales the storm, waiting for the first lightning burst with eager expectation.

When it strikes, he'll be there.

_This isn't over._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> So, Barry returns home - even though he supposedly had a forty-eight hour deadline in the original episode. A minor alteration that I needed for the sake of this fic not being several thousand words longer. Hope you can forgive it! Thanks for reading.


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